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“Laura,” a tiny man called out.
My mind snapped back to Walnut Cherryville reality…or maybe not…unless I was really seeing a tiny midget with a fiery–red, receding hairline. Orange was not a good color on him. He tied his blue bandana on his head before he led me out of the glass building.
“Good morning, Laura,” he said. “My name is Tim and welcome to the gatherers. It’s a fairly long walk to the forest, so bear with me as I entertain you with my lovely singing voice. Feel free to sing along if you’d like.”
Tiny Tim started singing what sounded like Irish music, which was confirmed when I saw him occasionally walk like he was in Riverdance. By the time we reached the forest, I had all his moves memorized. It wasn’t until I saw the massive trees towering over us that I realized when he said forest, he actually meant a real forest.
At the entrance to the forest sat a pile of baskets. He held out a basket to me, but I hardly noticed because I was so entranced by the trees. The line between desert and forest was so abrupt. I reached down, grabbed a handful of sand, and then touched the tree that was two steps in front of me.
“Laura, please take the basket; my arm is getting tired.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, taking the basket.
“The entrance to the forest is marked by these baskets. Every day you will take a basket or two and venture out into the wonderful world of trees. Your assignment is to collect as many almost-ripe mangos as you can. If you’re unsure of what we’re looking for, there is a picture of an almost-ripe mango in your basket, so look for mangos that look like your picture. Just so you know, mangos grow on trees, so you might have to do a little climbing. When you’ve filled your basket, you need to check it in at the packaging station, which you can find by following all the footprints that lead out of the forest. You will repeat this process until the sun goes down. After that, your day is over, and you may return to the glass building. Any questions?”
“No,” I said before he walked away.
I stepped into the forest and started looking for mango trees. Every tree I found had someone else picking off it, so I chose a tree at random.
“Hey, I claimed this tree—get off!” a man yelled out.
To avoid an argument, I walked away from the tree and continued searching for one that wasn’t claimed by someone else. It took a long time, but I eventually found the perfect tree in an area secluded from other gatherers. I walked around and underneath the tree, collecting all the mangos I could reach. I dropped them on the ground until I was done collecting, and then I placed them in the basket.
There were still several mangos up on the higher branches, so I climbed the tree, which was difficult and made my muscles ache. I rested on a branch for a few minutes before I continued to drop mangos down to the ground. All of a sudden, I heard footsteps approaching, so I looked around. A young Asian woman grabbed my basket of mangos, but I stopped her before she could get away.
“Hey,” I yelled as I fell from the tree and toppled on the girl, making her drop the basket. I sat on her back and moved the basket out of her reach.
“Get off me,” she cried. “You’re hurting me!”
“Why do you want to steal my basket?” I yelled. “Why do you want to steal my basket?”
She didn’t answer, and her crying stopped. As a matter of fact, it felt like she wasn’t breathing. I got off her, flipped her on to her back, and poked her a bit. Her eyes were closed.
“Are you OK?”
Out of nowhere, her eyes shot open, and she jammed a spork shiv into my cheek followed by a swift open-palm punch to the nose. I fell onto my back—it’s on, bitch! As she stood up, I quickly reached into my basket and threw a mango at her boob. I got back on my feet and smeared the blood that dripped from my nose on my uniform sleeve. I gave her the look of death—the same look I gave girls at school who wore the same outfit as me—while she rubbed her boob in pain. She came at me with a dozen Kung Fu moves and blocked all my attacks. She kicked me to the ground and took my basket of mangos with her bloody hands. I grabbed a handful of dirt as she turned away.
“Hey, bitch,” I said to get her attention. First, provide a distraction. When she turned, I threw dirt in her eyes, so I could beat her up American-style. Second, make her lose control. I grabbed her by the hair, pulled her down, and forced her to eat the dirt. Third, finish her! I rolled onto her and punched her in the face repeatedly like a cowboy in those old Western films. Unfortunately for me, that girl was flexible enough to kick me behind the head and knock me out. As my world turned black, I fell to the ground and ate the dirt. It was OK, she might have won this battle, but I wouldn’t let her defeat me again. I would find a way to get back at her. Laura out…